


Memento

by Tori_1231



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Swearing, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 04:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30033156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tori_1231/pseuds/Tori_1231
Summary: Harry lost his mother when he was nine years old.
Relationships: Harry Hook/Uma
Kudos: 9





	Memento

  
Harry’s mother died when he was a nine years old. 

He did not mourn over the loss, nor he knew how to do it. It’s the isle full of a sudden death,—when you call these starvation and diseases that could’ve been cured if only not on the isle the one of these, therefore he knew better than letting the world known that he had a loss. 

Losing someone is not a loss if you don’t miss them. That’s how the isle works.   
  


His mother was a beautiful woman, with gorgeous brown ringlets and blue eyes that resembles a North Star a boy who’s born on the isle only could imagined. 

She was a little cruel, selfish woman. She left her own children behind when Harry was four, and Harriet—his older sister that he secretly aspired to be ever since she took the responsibility upon the siblings—was seven going on eight years old. Not that she had been a mother, as well as Captain Hook had never been attentive father of the family, they both were lil bit of a poser, vain, and that made them a perfect match.

So it came out naturally, that she played favorite over her son for having her blue eyes. Yet the favoritism never went anywhere. Poor three years old boy was still a loveless child. 

  
She’d come around once in a while between the intervals of her window shopping, look at him mostly at his innocent blue eyes shone a little in hope of his mother’s love, then leave. It’s always less than a check in on. 

Harry as a child only remembered the smell of rum lingered in air after she’s gone. But then again, he never was sure it’s from her. The smell’s everywhere on the pirate ship.

She was a _professional_. And Harry knew what the term means.   
Once upon a time, Captain Hook had a party on board, crews compensated for lack of gratitude to their dear captain by paying for a woman. By the dawn, they had gotten close, and since then there’s one woman shown up once a week, then twice, everyday, eventually moved into the Captain’s Quarters. Gave a birth to beautiful girl, Harriet. Oh, and a boy named after first child, Harry. 

They’re a match made in this forsaken place, but not for parenting. Alas, they were too egotistical for that, and this dysfunctional family they’ve made was a big mistake.   
  


Somehow, Harry has heard from dear ole’ Mr.Smee that they had something differed from what they had with other one night stands.

It’s one usual day, the sky’s murky, the sea’s as stagnant as yesterday, and it’s too cold to get up early without complains bubbling out of his mouth.

Even before opening his eyes, Harry knew whose hands are shaking his shoulders, gently coaxing him to wake up. Gnarled hands with warmth of a inhideable kindness. Mr.Smee, who was kind of (grand)father figure for Harry. 

Smee rarely try to wake him up this early, so as wondering why Harry reluctantly sat up. The old man put his little beanie on the chest as in express of condolence, lowered his wet eyes and said.

“Harry, your mother...,”

_—She’s been found dead._

Harry squinted his eyes at the first mate of his father. All drowsiness are gone in a blink. In place of them, something uneasy taken over.

“We’re going to host a funeral. Let’s get ready, I’ll help”

Smee didn’t seem to notice how stunned by the news Harry was, he took the semilunar glasses off and wiped a stray tear on his cheek. Then shuffled his way to the closet and try pulling better quality of outfits Harry had.   
All the while, Harry was unusually silent...

It was a murder case. A prostitute she was, it was her day of doom to have a customer with uncontrollable bloodlust. By long blood stains from the back alley to the street, it seemed like she fought for her own life so long till the death granted her a eternal peace. Her purses are taken empty.  
In mass crowd of mobs, Harry picked them up from someone’s mouth. Hook’s men carried a coffin though the wharf to aboard the Jolly Roger. Harriet glared daggers at onlookers as she mouthed at Harry to go, ushered him into tailing the funeral procession.

Even after the death, she was still beautiful. Blue eyes often compared to the stars are hidden behind coins, still Harry could see they must be as blue as they were in his fading memories. Now there’s him alone with these blue eyes. He didn’t ask for them, he would never be obsessed with his own eyes, nor he’d be proud of. He felt bad for his mother about it.

A wooden plank laid over the ship’s side usually meant for a execution of disobeying crewmate. Today, it’s used for the opening of his mother’s journey. These hulk of men carried the coffin smoothly on to the plank, but Captain Hook called a pause. He brushed Harry’s shoulder, knelt besides his dead wife. Crazed sable eyes stared at her interlocked hands.

Harry watched his father mostly for his curiosity, it’s rare to see both of his parents at one time, they’ve never seen together for a while.   
Also Harry had never seen his father in his attire from glorious old days. Red velvet coat and golden hook on left hand. 

Captain Hook had a somber expression on his face, then it cracked into something Harry had never seen as hooked hand caught a ring finger of the woman.   
For a moment, the pirate captain pondered then took a silver ring off of her finger. With the ring in his right hand, he motioned Harry to come closer. 

“This would be a memento of your mother. Keep it”

Harry gazed and gazed upon a ring on his palm as his ears were distantly hearing the funeral continues.   
Faint sound of splashes. That must’ve been for a nailed up coffin thrown overboard. Smee’s chanting the name of Calypso, crewmen popped open a bottle of rum and poured some into the water. Harriet was nowhere to be seen, at somewhere she could be alone for a moment. 

And Harry kept gazing. In tiny hope of it telling him something he didn’t know. His father came to his side once again after he took a swig of rum.

“Would’ve never guessed that she’d been keeping such a thing on herself”

The silver band. Slim and simple.  
Harry did not know that his mother would like a ring like this, either.

_Such a thing_ was a memento of his mother for Harry to remember, yet as soon as he turned ten years old Harry gave it to Uma, as a proof of his loyalty.

The loss of mother never fazed Harry as much as he thought it would. 

Sure, wharf rats were annoying. Since they’ve seen him trailed her mother’s coffin, making fun of him being motherless became a real fun.   
Some of them didn’t even have parents, nonetheless it was a very idea of weakness that losing someone behind you made orphans feel better about themselves. It was consoling for their miserable selves that even a VK so powerful with big names could be one of them: _Bottom feeders_. 

Of course Harry fought back. Once he found right angle of hitting their noses, the trend quickly died out. With twisted satisfaction of seeing these lemmings hurrying out of his way and his bleeding knuckles, Harry strolled around the wharf. He didn’t even feel the pain anywhere in his body. 

He’s free, he’s angry for nothing, and it felt so good for no reason. It made his inside a full of void. Without knowing at that point, he needed that.

Uma was only one who could deal with him. 

  
She didn’t say anything sounds wise, for that she never annoyed him like others. Although she sometimes took his hands, examining blood-caked knuckles of his and caressed with her thumb, glanced up to his eyes only when he hissed. And she gave him an annoyed look, he returned it back. Yet she didn’t stop him from fighting every single person who would make fun of him.

She let him be angry, or crazy to use other people’s words. 

At same time, Harry knew Uma cared. In secret drawer of the desk at the back of Ursula’s fish and chips, there’s always a stash of first aid kits. Uma never left them out of bandages. Only by that, he could figured out that she cared.   
And that’s as comfortable as it gets for a VK like him. He didn’t want to be held tight till he calms down, didn’t want to be soothed for wherever it irritates him. 

He wanted to be angry as long as he could. Fuzzy and blurry feeling of loss haunted him and he didn’t know what else to do than occupying inside of himself with anger.

Looking back, that’s where Harry started feeling for Uma.   
He has liked her since forever, but if he were to point, it’s when Uma was just there with him. Not for making fun of him, nor calling him out for acting crazy.   
By her side, Harry gradually processed his feelings over his mother’s death. It never ceased to amaze Harry that Uma’s patience lasted for months.

It’s after a while since Harry’s excuses to be angry has all gone. 

Mal made a big show humiliating Uma at the wharf. It didn’t even need half a day for the gossip to run itself over the isle. Stinky _Shrimpy_ , rotten shrimps are dangling from her braided hairs, soaked with polluted water. She’d never able to get rid of the smell. 

It’s a week after the incident and Uma was yet to come out there. She refused to let anyone comment on her smell, and it’s not like Mal didn’t send a bunch of her personal arse-kissers to yell at Uma’s window everyday. 

Every morning, Harry’d wake up, get ready and go to Ursula’s shoppe, stand firmly on his ground all day and make them run for their lives with his bleeding crimson eyes. Uma didn’t let him see her yet and he had a plenty of reasons to be angry at people.

The eighth day, fish baits have gone. Harry sneaked his way into the back alley of chip shoppe, clambered up the wall of upstairs. There’s a crack sized of a dog. And at ten years old, he’s a boy with physique issues.   
He knew the interior of the house, grabbed a knob of the door led to Uma’s room. Without any resistance, it clicked open contrary to the owner’s will.

She’s laying on the bed, secluded herself into makeshift fort of a thin blanket.   
A pair of boots that too big for Harry hits wooden floors. Uma grudgingly sat up as she could tell who the intruder would’ve been by that continual sounds of the floor creaking beneath the boots.

The room had no sources of light, no lamplight, no streak of street lights. Uma remained silent as she sighed deep. With his eyes, Harry couldn’t figured out what looks she had on her face.   
All he could made out of the dark was a pair of glossy eyes shone for a moment when a dim light from the corridor gave him an advantage.

He slowly approached. Stood at the side of bed for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Then it occurred to him that Uma didn’t meet his eyes, or else he’d have seen these big brown pupils there.   
He decided what move for next. In clunky boots, he knelt on his knees and looked into where he thought Uma’s face would be between a tattered material of blanket. 

“I’m on your side, always,”

He said so more to himself, it’s an oath. But as soon as it came out of his mouth, he thought he’s seen a hopeful shine in Uma’s eyes that he’s yet to fully make out of complete darkness, turned out sounds like a promise.

So he slid a silver ring off of his thumb, took Uma’s hand and slid it on hers.

“I promise, Uma”

He sworn, he saw her brown eyes took a moment for the ring on her, then she looked up at him and there’s a tiny spark of spirits.

  
  


This morning, Harry has turned thirteen years old. 

_Sinister-thirteen_ is a distinctive term for the isle of villains. Not only for a special age for the descendants of great evil, but it’s also an age of adulthood here. He’s now an adolescent. He’s out of the guardianship or whatever it never seemed to be taken serious. 

He’s obviously still a child but who cares? It’s not like children have privileges of being children. Most of the cases, children are forced to work, or they’d simply left fending for themselves when they became able to walk.

Compared to the worst, Harry has been lucky. 

  
Captain Hook was a rich man, owned fishing shop, clock shop, and crocodile wrestling house. He’s been busy, never cared for his eccentric son’s whereabouts. Through he knew that his son has corrupted himself into Ursula’s urchins lackey, he doesn’t even bother to send someone over and make him take a shift at his shop. Last time he had Harry to take some, the brat stole money from the cashier.   
He has banned Harry out of all shops he owned since then.

It’s early in the morning, and Harry’s been called at the Captain Quarters of the Jolly Roger. It’s been years since the last time Harry has ever stepped into the room.   
The interior was the same as he remembered, gloomy dark red walls, a set of desk and chair made of cracked mahoganies. Its armrests has a series of scratches because of its owner being hooked hand. So were the closet, curtains, and the oil paintings on the wall. 

Harry glided across the room, before his father’s desk. On a hard wooden surface, a map has been pinned like a specimen. As long as Harry remember, it’s always there. A bird-eyes view of Neverland, with a scrabbles about _Pan_ on spots here and there. 

Harry spotted a empty wineglass near the edge of map, then questioned himself.

_He’s sober...interesting._

Captain Hook had another woman as soon as the period of mourning expired. The woman took her own daughter along with a small suitcase. Daughter’s name was Calista Jane, a younger sister Harry had never known before. 

After few months later, just as Hook’s children started warming up, CJ’s mother as well died from a flu.   
With two women’s departures, Hook learned that the Jolly Roger never was meant to be a place for “mother”. He stopped playing the mistresses, he started drowning himself into bottles of rum instead. He’s at the captain quarters round the crock. With endless animosity for Peter Pan for a side dish, he drinks and drinks. 

He’s never seen sober until today.

“You’ve turned thirteen, lad”

Hook mumbled, straight into the point as always.

Harry shrugged, uncertain about what this was about.  
He didn’t expect his father to be punctual of the date, specifically for his own children.   
He’d have Mr.Smee to take care of them yet he wasn’t a doting type. Through Smee’s mouth and hands, in some ways Hook has raised Harry, clothe him with old hands downs, and a old dull hook. Only because Hook would’ve minded if someone accidentally killed his children without knowing who they were, bringing a humiliation to him.

VKs having the family crest on their back means two things:a constant check that what they’d deal with if they were to harm children, and a demonstration of their power.

“Mr.Smee says it’s a special occasion,”

Harry had his own reflexes to thank for, Hook slipped something off of his hook then thrown a tiny shiny piece at him without warnings, and he’s cautious enough for whatever his father do to catch it in the air.

Today’s a full of surprises. Harry eyed at into his hand. It’s a ring. After all years could’ve known his father, Harry didn’t know that Hook would’ve liked a ring like this.   
This, looked familiar. It’s almost identical to his mother’s.

“It’s the other half of a pair rings I gave you at her funeral”

It’s been three years, enough for her dignity. Hook added grumpy.

_I think it’s a wee bit richer for the man had his mistress moved in just two months later, dad._ Harry murmured back in his head.   
Not that Harry have a right to accuse him of half-arsed faithfulness of a widower. The son gave his mother’s memento away to his own best friend.

So what’s the point of receiving another one of pair rings? He only had five fingers on each hand and most of them already have one or two ring fits. 

Harry must’ve been having a awkward, ungrateful look as fiddling a ring between the fingers.  
Hook gave him a sour look before opening his mustached mouth.

“Do you not know what marriage rings are?”

_What’s Smee been teaching you about? Eh?_

  
  


In the late afternoon, lunchtime rush called “Unhappy Hour” has gone without Donnybrooks. Ursula’s chip shoppe was quiet in between dim strings lights dangling from ship wheels of a chandelier and hiccups of drunken witches at the table for two.

Standing lazily amid of depressing atmosphere, Harry’s gaze landed on Uma, and certain silver band on her right ring finger. It reminded him of the father-son conversation this morning.

“Uma,”

“Hmm?”

Uma hummed on a fish fry in her mouth. Tilting her head as munching a mouthful. She looked like a vicious squirrel. Vicious. Because she’d fight him if he ever try to pop these full cheeks of hers. No hesitation.

“Remember when I gave you that ring?”

That, Harry wiggled his own right hand. Uma simply nodded.

“Turned out it’s my mum’s marriage ring”

Never would’ve known unless dad told me. Mused himself, Harry shrugged.

Uma frowned. Her hand over a tray stopped its move, hovering in the air.   
Taking his turn, Harry’s hand ducked beneath hers and took a chip.

He liked potatoes, it’s one of foods that tasted as good as the foods on the garbage strike could be. And he liked them crispy.   
Overall, these fries at Ursula’s are wicked! 10/10 recommend, he’d say... 

Harry smirked himself, then felt a hand on his arm. It’s Uma whose mouth still hanging open a little. 

For a moment, Harry thought about it that how many chips would fit in her slack-jawed look...Nevermind. She’d kill him if he tried.

So he went with normal boring one of his reaction repertoire.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?”

“What’s wrong?!”

“That’s what I say”

“No, but...what? Was this your mother’s all along?”

Uma stared up at him in total disbelief. Seemed like she didn’t expect him to go such a length.   
A part of him knows it’s to the moon and back size of big deal for people, but he doesn’t care like he maybe should. 

He’d do anything for her. He’d give almost anything for her,—his hook is only exception, still he’d give it up if things are serious.

“Had been hers. It’s yours now”

Harry corrected her accusation with such a ease. That’s a giveaway how natural it is for him.

“You know what I mean. It’s,”

Uma paused for a word that perfectly describes her feelings. It must be complicated. Harry only hoped that she wasn’t creeped out now knowing it was a dead woman’s jewelry.

“—Too heavy?”

Harry offered half-jokingly.

“Kinda”

Uma deadpanned. Then raised eyebrows at him, this time’s serious about it.

“You jackass. I didn’t even know it’s your mother’s. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her hand lightly flapped off at his shoulder. By that he felt something that couldn’t get anymore further from what they call the pain. It was always warm, a bit of tingling in not bad ways. Wherever and however Uma touch, he shivers out of a sudden warmth.

And he barely shrugged off of the feeling before speak on his side.

“I just forgot about it when I gave it to you. It’s right after she died, you know?”

Harry had been busier than usual inside his head, that’s both of them understood well.

After few moments of silent, mutual understanding, Uma shocked her head.

“I think you should keep this”

At _this_ , as in emphasizing her words, she raised her right hand up to eye level. The color silver of a ring shone dull under the light. Harry found himself liking the view.

“Sentimental value, have you ever heard? Or even thought about it?”

They both know that if they bet on it, they’d be on same side. 

Uma huffed impatiently, which Harry can’t wrap his head around why. Only he could get it was he didn’t want her to pull the ring off of her finger. So he’s quick, gently swept his hand up, taking her left hand that about to pick at the ring. Uma grimaced at him. He has met a plenty of her don’t-you-dare looks before and could tell this was don’t-interrupt-me one of those.

“I don’t want you to give it back to me. I already have mine!”

“The heck are you,”

“—Look, see? My dad gave me this in the morning. It’s other one of a pair”

A pointy tip of Harry’s hook vaguely circled above his right hand that still loosely holding Uma’s. The angle of connecting hands made it kind of hard for Uma to get a look at his ring finger, but there it was. 

A silver band that identical to hers.

“This one fits me perfect”

Yours wouldn’t do me right, smaller and looks just your size. Just as stating what were truths for him, it just dawned on Harry that he’s getting bigger comparison to Uma. He knew he looked smug about it because Uma had a bitter look across their hands.

“...Don’t interrupt me again! Ever!”

Harry took it as her acceptance.

It’s a day as beautiful as so many days have gone past, and Harry’s twenty years old. 

It’s been whole two years since he among all people on the isle moved into Auradon, where the sun shines and the birds chirp its songs. 

If he’s younger, he’d absolutely hate every inches of it. But it’s not all bad. At least he got to sail on real, open water.   
For the first time in his life he knew what the sea feels like against his exposed skin. He got two shades tanned which his captain adored of. She got these called “sun kissed skin”, too. It almost resembles the mahogany desk in the Captain Quarters of the Jolly Roger. It’s all in the past. 

Auradon was truly the land of opportunity, and no, Harry wasn’t joking.   
What he’s been missed when he was younger. What he had to look away so not to look weak. He could scoop all these things up from his childhood.   
Since transferred to Auradon Prep, he as well as so many isle kids started working on their own missed developments.   
For Harry, one of them was looking back. 

When his mother died, he didn’t know if he’s sad. On that matter, he still doesn’t know. He just knew that he shouldn’t as a kid then he knows maybe he should’ve if she wasn’t a stranger to him. She was a ghost from his cradle even before she’s gone forever.   
But nowadays, he thinks he did want to mourn. Despite himself being the one who gave what was left for him to Uma, he never able to forget her by doing that. 

He had to manage. He had to be functional in the isle standard. So he abandoned his mother far behind his ongoing life.   
True realist. Cold-hearted.   
Still he got unsolved ill-feeling shoved into the corner of his eyes, it flickers unprovoked. 

— _Sentimental value_. When Uma tried to return the ring she said. 

On other day, it just sounded right. 

He’d been thought that something like that only apply to what his father was to him. The name Captain Hook was always the legacy to carry on. That protect you from unwanted attention. Harry was okay as long as he put a front before people around the wharf, the crazy son of Captain Hook. He didn’t need double-barreled surname. His mother was nobody. Which made him just so selfish to omit her from his blood.

The word “sentimental value” feels like it’s saying okay to miss residual aroma of rum. He liked it.

Still he doesn’t want Uma to return the ring back to him, though.


End file.
